The Order of the Phoenix
by Illustria
Summary: What if Lysandra Leonessa had indeed become a real Harry Potter character? Read an alternate Book 5 as Harry and his friends battle new enemies, face new creatures, and find adventure at every turn.


N/A: Yes, I confess, it was I who sent out the fake Lysandra Leonessa Book 5 email that made its way to nearly every HP-loving mailbox and site in the world. I am so sorry – I think. This is how I envisioned book 5 to be. Do read on, and do review! All characters, except Lysandra, belong to the gifted Ms. Rowling. Mentions of LOTR abound, so credits and worship go to Master JRR Tolkien.  
  
Chapter 1  
Lysandra Leonessa  
  
Early evening fell from the skies of Rome just as the bells of St. Peter's rang through the city. One...two...three...four...five...six...each peal bringing with it the laughter of tourists making their way home, or the chatter of students leaving school, or the flapping of hundreds of wings as pigeons flew out of the piazzas and onto the fountains, or benches, or stone pillars grated with the roughness of time. The evening swept across steeples and domes, bridges and waters, wooden shutters and stained glass. The darkness came, but it was anything but threatening. In fact, for one fearless soul who just exited the tall, bronze doors of the Vatican Museum, the darkness was welcome.  
  
"Buon giorno!" she greeted everyone she met, including the silent Swiss guards who successfully held their smiles back. She bounded down the steps of the museum, out into the brightness of St. Peter's Square, the same wide pillar-surrounded enclosure with two bubbling fountains and hundreds of noisy tourists. She made her way through the crowds, attracting a few approving looks from the boys, even a few curious ones for her light brown skin.  
  
"Buon giorno, Signorina Leonessa!" another greeting came.  
  
"Buon giorno!" she replied, waving to her friend the baker before leaving the square.  
  
"Buon giorno, Lysandra!" was the greeting from the street, from a policeman who held up a hand to keep her from crossing.  
  
"Buon giorno!" the girl answered with a smile. She was about to start a conversation about the Roman traffic (there were many tiny cars all squeezed into the street before her, all of them crowding around a tourist bus) when something wet slapped against her hand. Lysandra thought she was being robbed, and she looked at her side slowly, her free hand clutching her bag tightly to prepare her to swing it. The nerve! She thought, Mugging me in front of the carabinieri!  
  
"Mi scusi!" Lysandra began angrily, expecting to find a big, muscled Italian. She was already about to sigh in relief when she saw no one; but she looked farther down, and her breath caught in her throat.  
  
"Mi scusi, Signorina Lysandra," the lights had changed, and people were already crossing the street. "Mi scusi," the policeman repeated.  
  
Lysandra looked back at him abruptly, pale and out of breath, "Si, si, si," she walked away with the rest of the crowd, a big black dog at her heels.  
  
***  
  
Lysandra began rushing through the streets as soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk of the Via della Conciliazione. She kept her eyes before her, her hand shooting impulsively to her side, as though she were ready to grab something that was no longer there. She walked on, half-fearfully, half- angrily, her roundish cheeks at first bright red, then pale white. When the brown walls of the Castel Sant' Angelo came into view, she looked back.  
  
The black dog was still following her.  
  
She walked even faster, her heels sounding loud on the cobblestones of the bridge of the Ponte Angelo. Her black hair soon fell free of its ribbon, and it streamed behind her as she went on walking, through crowds of tourists, hawkers, and students. She looked back, hoping that she had lost him in the muddle of people.  
  
The black dog still followed.  
  
She bumped into a few tourists, delaying her escape further. Muggles! She found herself thinking, and she cursed inwardly as she felt the familiar breath on her hand. Lysandra was all ready to walk out of the sea of people when she found herself face to face with a carabinieri, the Italian police.  
  
Lysandra's little scream made the officer look back at her strangely, "Signorina Leonessa?"  
  
"Um," Lysandra began, finally realizing how odd she looked, with her hair down and in shambles, and her eyes wide, "Buon giorno?"  
  
"Is there something wrong, Signorina?"  
  
"No," Lysandra lied, trembling.  
  
The officer looked behind her just as the dog came forward to lick Lysandra's fingers, "Is this your dog, Signorina?"  
  
Lysandra tried not to flinch, "No," and, quickly, and very guiltily, too, "Yes."  
  
She was odder than usual, but the officer did not say so, "Take care of him," he reminded her, surprised at how fast she was nodding her head. Well, Lysandra was known to be strange at times – pretty, yes, but strange – and he simply let her through.  
  
Lysandra was careful not to get any more attention. She had declared the dog to be hers after all, which was very, VERY irritating. She simply walked on determinedly, trying to find an excuse not to let the dog into her apartment. She lived on the third floor of an old but strong stone building, with her windows fronting the river Tiber. She had a very nice landlady, who didn't seem all too nice now as Lysandra entered the building.  
  
"Buon giorno, Lysandra!" was the landlady's greeting, onions and carrots in tow; and, "What a nice dog!"  
  
"Buon giorno," Lysandra replied tonelessly, making her way upstairs. There were no lifts on this side of the Tiber, and Lysandra walked up the old stone steps to her apartment, ignoring the black dog at her heels. She unlocked her door and allowed him to walk in first, cautiously eyeing where he went.  
  
"Fine!" she growled, banging the door behind her and walking into her kitchen to get a long drink of wine. There was some noise from her living room, and Lysandra cast her dark eyes in that direction.  
  
"You're not allowed on the furniture, Sirius."  
  
There was a faint pop, and human footsteps now began to echo around the room. Lysandra walked out of the kitchen, still in a huff, and faced her visitor.  
  
"Good evening, Lysandra," was the greeting from the man who now sat by her window. He was older than she remembered, still handsome, but with lines of care on his brow. He pulled her shutters closed silently as she watched.  
  
"What are you doing here?" The vase in her kitchen smashed to the floor as she spoke.  
  
"He could be watching and listening." Sirius went on, patting Lysandra's owl on the head. He was a spectacled owl, standing quietly on his perch by the window. He began to make annoyed chirping noises as Sirius left him with no opening to be free for the night, "Not so loud Lysandra."  
  
"He could have been watching and listening all this time, for all I care," Lysandra continued, dropping her bag on her couch and crossing her arms over her chest, "What are you doing here?"  
  
Sirius glared at her, frightening her for a moment, "How many times do you let your owl out?"  
  
"I don't want any Dementors running around Rome, Sirius."  
  
"I said: how many times do you let your owl out?"  
  
"I don't let him out," Lysandra said between her teeth, giving her pet a comforting rub on the back of his neck, "Gandalf goes out whenever he wants to."  
  
Gandalf nestled his head against Lysandra's palm and yawned. He seemed very bored with two humans arguing while he had to get out to hunt for his dinner. "Never mind," Sirius shook his head, "Have you received anything by owl post?"  
  
"No – I don't believe in owl post," Lysandra left Gandalf and proceeded to open her shutters, hearing a porcelain tray crash to the floor in her bedroom, "It's getting hot in here."  
  
"You're not helping, Lysandra," Sirius proceeded to close all the shutters again.  
  
"Well neither are you!" came her old, argumentative voice, along with a smash of glass against tile from her kitchen, "What are you doing, following me around? What are you doing here?"  
  
Sirius gave a low, dog-like grunt of assent as he took something out of his pocket. It was a crumpled up piece of parchment, and he handed it to Lysandra, "Dumbledore sent me," he said, watching her accept it slowly, "He needs you."  
  
Lysandra unfolded the letter and read it aloud, patting Gandalf as she spoke, "Dear Lysandra," she began, her patting growing even more vigorous as the letter went on, so that Gandalf began to whimper, "The Dark Lord has risen, and he is gathering allies fast. We need your help at Hogwarts now. Now is not the time for enmity."  
  
Lysandra's voice broke at the end, but she cast the letter at Sirius' feet with defiance, where it smoldered, destroying itself.  
  
"I'm not going."  
  
"Lysandra..."  
  
"I'm not going, Sirius."  
  
"What should I tell Dumbledore, then?"  
  
"That I'm not going. It's that simple."  
  
"It's not that simple, Lysandra."  
  
"Yes it is."  
  
"No it isn't." "Yes it is," Lysandra spat every word out above the noise of a vase crashing to her bathroom floor, "You don't need me. You never did. All I've ever been is – is – is a nuisance! A burden!"  
  
She seemed all ready to burst into tears, but Lysandra quickly recovered herself. "You have always been an asset to us, Lysandra," Sirius proceeded slowly, "You know that."  
  
"I'm a disaster," Lysandra answered, pacing around the room, "I can't go and I won't go. Tell Dumbledore I can't because I won't. There, it's that simple."  
  
"He found Harry again, Lysandra."  
  
"What?" Lysandra spun around, an old light glittering in her dark eyes.  
  
Sirius smiled slightly, knowing that he had her, "The Dark Lord found Harry again, Lysandra. Harry won the Triwizard Tournament last year –"  
  
"Triwizard Tournament? But he can't be more than –"  
  
"The goblet chose him. Long story, and Dumbledore will tell you when you get to Hogwarts. The Triwizard cup turned out to be a portkey, and You-Know- Who nearly killed Harry –"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Harry said it was an old churchyard –"  
  
"The Riddles' churchyard, I suppose."  
  
"Yes. You-Know-Who tried to resurrect himself. He gathered his Death- Eaters. Harry and he had a duel—"  
  
"A Duel!"  
  
"Yes. Harry won, and he took the portkey back. It's a long story, but Dumbledore will tell you when you get to Hog—"  
  
Sirius nearly had her full attention, and Lysandra was all ears and eyes, hanging on to every word until his last sentence.  
  
"I," she started, "Am not going to Hogwarts!"  
  
"Yes, you are!"  
  
"I am not!" another vase fell, this time in the hallway outside.  
  
"We all need you now, Lysandra," Sirius said firmly, bristling like a very angered dog, "The Death Eaters have gathered and it's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord wreaks havoc again. You don't want that to happen, do you?"  
  
"You're right," Lysandra retorted, "I don't. Which is why I won't go back to Hogwarts."  
  
"Hogwarts gave you everything you needed to strengthen your powers."  
  
"I don't want those powers now."  
  
"But we need them, Lysandra. Everyone has returned, at least everyone living," Sirius added bitterly, "Except you."  
  
Sirius finally seated himself on her couch. He watched Lysandra turn to him sadly, all her former sunny gaiety gone, "Everyone?" she asked softly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Fletcher?"  
  
"He's heading security at Hogwarts."  
  
"Figg?"  
  
"She's coming back to teach Muggles Studies. You could teach that, you know," Sirius put in smoothly, knowing how much Lysandra loved teaching.  
  
"Mad-Eye?"  
  
"He's back after an...accident last year – Defense Against the Dark Arts."  
  
"Snape?"  
  
"Potions master at Hogwarts."  
  
Lysandra's eyes moistened, "Peter?"  
  
Sirius let out a long breath, "Well, except him," and, sadly, "Still with the Dark Lord."  
  
Lysandra nodded, patting Gandalf absent-mindedly. She was hiding her face from Sirius, trying to say something, but fighting to keep it back. When she couldn't take it any longer, she spoke up, but the words were nearly lost, "Remus?"  
  
Sirius understood somewhat, "He's coming back. Defense Against the Dark Arts."  
  
"Two dark arts professors," Lysandra remarked.  
  
"The students need it," Sirius answered, "They need all the protection, all the defense. There are very evil times ahead, Lysandra."  
  
The two kept silent for some time, Sirius watching Lysandra carefully, Lysandra watching Gandalf and the world behind the slits in her wooden shutters. At length, Sirius stood up, waking the girl out of her reverie.  
  
"Have you eaten anything?" she asked, hearing tourists talk about dinner on the streets below.  
  
"No," Sirius scratched his neck uneasily, "But I'll catch something."  
  
Lysandra shook her head and walked into her kitchen, muttering about a decent meal. She soon emerged, carrying a small box of chicken and pizza, "I'm sorry it's cold," she said quickly, closing the box, "But it's all I have. If you want, you can stay –"  
  
Sirius took the box gratefully, "No, I can't," he laid the box down on the floor, "Lots of business, but thank you."  
  
"I see," Lysandra said. For the first time, she seemed lonely indeed, even as her cheeks were bursting with color and her eyes were gaining their old fire.  
  
"Come to Hogwarts, Lysandra," Sirius was near begging.  
  
Lysandra shrugged, looking down at her toes.  
  
"The students need you. Dumbledore needs you."  
  
Lysandra nodded tentatively.  
  
"Do it for Lily and James."  
  
A bright tear rolled down Lysandra's cheek as Sirius finished. He made for the door, pushing the box of food with his foot, "Send your owl to Hogwarts. He'll know where to find me," he ordered gently, looking at Gandalf, who hooted softly. "So," Sirius said after some time, towering over the diminutive Lysandra, who still kept her head bowed, "I'll be seeing you at Hogwarts?"  
  
"I don't know," Lysandra choked.  
  
Sirius smiled widely and gave her an approving pat on her back, "Good girl," he finished. She walked him to her door, her hand poised on the knob.  
  
"Sirius?" She looked up at him again, her eyes still glassy with tears. "How did you find me?"  
  
"I'm your secret-keeper, remember?"  
  
"No. Peter was," Lysandra put in impulsively. She swallowed loudly, "Never mind. I'm sorry. Take care of yourself."  
  
There was another faint pop, and Sirius was the big, black dog again. He allowed Lysandra to pet him on the head before she opened the door for him, letting him out as he carried her box of food. She walked around slowly for some time as silence resettled on her apartment. She normally sat in front of her TV when she got home, to eat pizza she had bought on the street while flipping through her sheets of stories and tales and prints. This time, it was different: her shutters were closed, Gandalf was seemingly alert for deliveries, and a mixture of pain and excitement gnawed at her insides, as though fourteen years had not passed at all.  
  
Lysandra kept on walking around, not knowing what to think or do. She found herself presently in her bedroom, on one side of her bed, her legs folded under her, her hand reaching under her pillow and feeling around the sheets until she found what she was looking for. She pulled it out and turned her bedroom light on, then peered at what appeared to be a stick.  
  
It was no ordinary stick. It was a wand. And it was of no ordinary make. It was made of mallorn, a tree that lived in the old, old days, when the High Elves still roamed the earth. It was the only one of its kind, holding a single fiber of dragon heartstring, twelve and a half-inches. A very powerful wand, she could still hear Mr. Ollivander say as he handed it to her, she a girl of eleven, looking as young as she did now.  
  
Lysandra pointed the wand before her, cradling it gently in the fingers of her left hand. "Reparo!" she said softly, watching her broken tray mend itself. She smiled as the familiar feeling of magic crept through her, and as Gandalf hooted, as though in approval.  
  
"Yes, old boy," she called to him, then laid her wand down beside her. She waved her left hand carelessly in the direction of the bathroom, "Reparo," she mumbled, hearing the vase fix itself up. 


End file.
